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Stunned, Fletch’s eyes grow wide as he looks to me. “Shiiiit.”
ARCHER
“As authorized by court order, signed by The Honorable Judge Mistleforth of the Copeland City Federal Judiciary, I, Chief Medical Examiner, Doctor Minka Mayet, begin an autopsy of Holly Wade, born Holly Trainor, inside the George Stanley medical facility.”
She wears blue scrubs now, with sneakers on her feet and an apron tied across her torso. Plastic glasses shield her eyes, and a mask stops her from inhaling whatever contaminants might come from remains that have been buried in dirt for thirty-six years.
“Date of death,” Aubree speaks for the record, “February fourth, nineteen eighty-six. Date of burial,” she adds mechanically, “February thirteenth, nineteen eighty-six. Date of exhumation, March third, two thousand and twenty-two.” Just like her boss, she’s dressed down, so scrubs cover her body, where typically, she prefers colors and style.
“Also present to assist is Doctor Aubree Emeri.” Minka’s voice brings my eyes back to her. “Lead detectives Archer Malone and Charlie Fletcher observe.”
My heart thumps in my chest, purely because she speaks my name.
“The original autopsy, performed in nineteen eighty-six by former George Stanley chief, Doctor Chant, reports that Holly Wade’s death was the result of suicide.” She takes a step back and studies Holly’s remains laid out on the table in front of her: Holly’s skull at the top end, while her skeleton stretches out below.
Beside it, a much smaller skeleton makes my stomach roll and my instincts kick into next gear.
“We recovered every last bone during exhumation,” Minka reports. “Plus a few more. Though many show signs of corrosion from the earth, none are unidentifiable.”
Aubree slides a fresh pair of gloves over her hands. “Decay is more advanced than we might have expected over the course of thirty-six years—due, most likely, to the poor quality of the casket and the acidic soil of the burial site.”
“Little to no clothing has been recovered,” Minka adds next. “Original notes indicate Holly was buried in a simple cotton sundress. No shoes. No buckles. No adornments except for a silver chain matching the one Hillary Wade, formerly Hillary DuPree, placed on the coffin.”
“We have two chains,” Aubree concludes, “as expected. Although one was in the casket, the other, outside. Both appear decayed and brittle.”
“Of note…” Minka wanders by me, her eyes on her work, her hands by her side, until she stops by the child that never got to live. “Medical examiners also recovered a much smaller skull, pelvis, tibia, fibula, and more. The remains appear to be a fetus, approximately twenty weeks in gestation.”
“There are no records of a pregnancy anywhere,” Aubree murmurs. “Not in the last medical examiner’s reports. Not in the subpoenaed material and medical records, according to the lead detectives.”
“A gross oversight,” Minka grits through her teeth. “Blood and stomach samples were taken to the toxicology department in nineteen eighty-six with an emphasis on finding what medications were in Holly’s system. Those tests alone should’ve turned up a pregnancy. Autopsy, too, should’ve made it obvious.” Looking up from the infant’s remains, Minka meets my eyes. “Negligence at best. Malicious at worst.”
“So someone either wanted to cover up a pregnancy,” I ponder. “Or the family members didn’t know, and the authorities, for whatever reason, didn’t disclose.”
“Potentially the second,” Aubree says. “No one has mentioned a pregnancy yet; not Henry, not Hillary, and not Lacey. If any of them knew, I would consider it to be one of the first things mentioned.”
“So why the coverup?” Fletch asks. “Why was Holly failed by the cops? The coroner? And was that somehow connected to the woman herself and her family, or was it simply luck of the draw?”
“There’s something else I’d like to point out.” Minka makes her way toward Holly’s skull. Picking it up and turning it in her hand, she keeps her movements slow so the cameras can record her every move. “Parietal, temporal, and sphenoid fractures.” She points to each break in the bone with the tip of her gloved finger. Then, tilting her hand, she adds, “Occipital fracture from blunt force.”
Glancing past the skull, her eyes meet mine. “Doctor Emeri and I will need more time to study and document Holly’s remains, but it’s my professional opinion that she died of severe head injuries.”
“Because of the car crash?” Fletch guesses. “Right?”
Pursing her lips for a moment and considering her words, Minka settles with a shake of her head. “Those types of fractures, on the same person, are not possible in the type of car accident Holly was involved in. The few death scene photographs we have are inconsistent with this type of injury. Adding in that she was secured by a seatbelt and lying across the driver’s and passenger’s seats upon collision, it’s my opinion she did not suffer these injuries as a result of the crash.”
“Which means….?” Fletch, like a child antsy for something exciting, leans closer,closerto the table. “What, Doctor? What does it mean?”
“She was dead before she hit that truck—or at the very least, severely disoriented and rapidly dying. There’s evidence of blunt force trauma here,” she points to Holly’s forehead, “and here,” she indicates a little further back. “Then, as though the first three or four strikes knocked Holly to her hands and knees, a final strike here,” she points to the shattered section at the back of Holly’s skull. “Her attacker took the last swing, using the force of momentum and downward motion. The last strike would easily kill a grown woman.”
“We have a homicide?” I step forward, but halt again when Minka’s free hand comes up to stop me.
Eight feet and a steel table separate us, but her hand is what makes me pause.
“Don’t come closer, Detective, or you risk contaminating your case.”
“Doctor Mayet?” My throat is dry, and my voice hoarse. “Can you confirm Holly Wade’s death was a result of homicide, not suicide?”
Again, she considers. Measures each and every word before she speaks it for the record. Finally, she nods. “Yes, Detective. I can confirm with absolute certainty Holly was a victim of homicide. Her injuries simply cannot be the result of a single car accident, and due to the angles at which she was attacked, I can also confirm they were not self-inflicted.”
